


i'm not taking life advice from a rock

by fuzzbucket



Category: Great News (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Vomit, inspirational rocks, the duchess' mule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzbucket/pseuds/fuzzbucket
Summary: What happened between Greg and Katie's kiss and their awkward conversation the next day? A little fill-in-the-blank from 2x11.





	i'm not taking life advice from a rock

**Author's Note:**

> agh! i just watched all of great news on a weekend binge and LOVED it. the fact that we'll never see more is a great disappointment to me, but here's my attempt to make myself feel better about it.

Greg knows, rationally, that he can’t keep kissing Katie.

She just booted in front of him. Numerous times. He has a girlfriend. She’s technically his subordinate. He’s pretty sure she burped in his mouth.

But none of that means anything, because it feels so good to kiss her. Vomit-mouth aside, it’s months of tension and affection and pistachio basketballs coming to a head.

He didn’t even mind when Carol snuck in and put a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a Bible on the sink behind them.

However, Katie just took her third vomit break, and kneeling on the tile floor is beginning to hurt his knees. “How are you?”

She looks up at him, eyes watery. “I think I’m done barfing. I can safely say this is the grossest hook-up I’ve ever had.”

In spite of himself, he laughs at her. “Want to get cleaned up?”

“Yes please.” He stands and holds out his hand to steady her as she gets up. He swears he doesn’t even mean to do this but she falls into his chest while he’s helping her up, and they’re staring searchingly at one another when she pulls away. “God, this is so gross.” She pushes him away. “Give me a minute.”

She shuts the bathroom door and he stares at it, hearing the water run on the other side. He realizes he’s just made this a much bigger mess than he intended, worse than when the duchess’ mule escaped and trampled all those ducks.

He has a realization. Maybe that’s why he’s got three ducks now. 

He hears the water turn off and the door opens. Katie’s on the floor in front of him. “I brushed my teeth but I can’t get up again.”

For the second time that night, he scoops her up in his arms and holds her close to him. It feels a million times better than it ever has with Cat, which just makes him feel guilty. “Where are we going?”

“My room. End of the hall on the right.” She latches her arms around his neck and he carries her down the hallway, as quiet as possible. He pushes open the door with his foot and feels for the light.

It blinks on and he is mesmerized. Sparkles. Magazines cut out all over the walls, mostly of Leonardo DiCaprio. Stacks of newspaper next to the desk. A bed covered in a heart-printed comforter. “It looks like a teenage girl hoarder’s nest,” he marvels.

“Put me down, please.” So he does, placing her gently on the bed. She scrabbles for the covers, pulling herself under. 

“Katie. Can we –“

“Not now.” She shakes her head at him pleadingly. “I feel awful. I’m sure you do too. Let’s not do this now.”

He exhales slowly. “You’re right.”

“Stay with me for a minute?”

His car’s downstairs, his Cat’s in Manhattan, but there’s literally nowhere he’d rather be than in this room with the hot pink walls giving him either a migraine or a stroke. “Sure.”

He lies down next to her, on top of the covers. He sneaks his hand into hers, and she turns to look at him. “We can talk about this tomorrow. Just… stay til I fall asleep?”

He nods, the corners of his mouth turning up in a semblance of a smile. “Of course.” 

Minutes later, he hears a telltale snore telling him she’s asleep. He folds her arms under the covers, pulls the comforter up to her chin, and tiptoes out, shutting the light off as he goes. 

He has made a giant mess, he’s got vomit on his shoes, and he’s pretty sure he smells like sour milk and whatever garden-on-fire potpourri Carol left in the bathroom. His hair’s a mess and he’s realizing he’s out of practice on his French braid technique. But he kissed the girl and he feels happier than he has in years.

He’s walking to his car when he feels something hit him on the back. He sees Dave retreating from an upstairs window and then looks down. There’s a very shiny rock next to his shoe.

_Believe in your dreams._

“I’m not taking life advice from a rock,” Greg mumbles to himself, but he can’t help smiling as he drives away.


End file.
